Bloody Princess
by Gallifreyan Annihilator
Summary: Being connected to the Varia in any way is never painless, and Eliza learns that the hard way - by loving a blood-stained demon. One-shot, Bel/OC, even though it's not romantic in any way. More of a dark character/Varia study than anything. Rated T for slight language and gore.


GA: Sorry about being inactive. I'm been working on four different ideas for chapter fics at the moment, three of which involve KHR, and one of which is a crossover - as well as KHRedubs, of course (if it gets anywhere, since I won't add any more if people aren't interested). I'm currently setting my Homestuck ideas (all 100+ of them, I swear) on the backburner.

For now, have this OC oneshot! It didn't turn out as great as I had hoped, but I hope you still enjoy it.

Please note, this isn't romance-y. At _all_. Yeah, it might sound like it, but it's more horror and psychological than anything. That's what you get when messing with the Varia.

PS, if you get why I named the OC what I named her, you are an amazing person and are probably just as twisted as me, Bel, or both. Or you just like history.

* * *

BLOODY PRINCESS

It's one thing falling in love with an assassin. It's another thing completely to fall in love with Belphegor, the Varia's very own Prince the Ripper. Elizabeta knew the dangers, she had grown up within the walls of the Vongola mansion, and yet she was foolish to do it anyways.

He seemed so innocent when she had first met him. Yes, he was an arrogant jerk, but he fit in so well with the rest of the Varia. They were a family, no matter how twisted they were. And that was where Elizabeta made her first mistake. Her second, although it seemed to go hand in hand with the first, was trusting the group. Befriending them.

Lussuria was a sweetheart, the first to allow Eliza into their small clique. The young Mammon followed soon after, although that was completely due to both Elizabeta's weakness for small children and her shallow pocket. She soon got to understand each of them, as if they were her own family, and that's where her third mistake came into play. Forgetting who they were.

But now, in front of her lays the carnage of a bloody battlefield, and she no longer forgets what these men are capable of. Lussuria's feather boa is soaked in blood, and his flamboyant air has a tinge of darkness around it, something she had turned a blind eye to in her younger years. Squalo's sword is just as red, and even after the battle is over, grotesque illusions are still seared into her memory, courtesy of the Mist Arcobaleno Mammon. Xanxus kicks over a fresh body, yelling about his alcohol, and Eliza stares - not in horror, no, she doesn't have the capacity to feel horror anymore - at the man's face, or what remains of it. His eye socket has been blown out, his mouth distorted into a disgusting parody of Janus Two-Face.

And behind her sits a maniacal, grinning Belphegor. He twirls one of his prized knives in his hand, the other wrapped around her shoulders. "Enjoying the view, _mia principessa_?" he says, snickering in that way that used to make her blood run cold. Not anymore, though. It's just another thing that he does. Another thing, like hunting and killing and torturing and relishing the blood on his blade and-

"Very much." Her voice is hollow, but she manages to say what she knows Bel would want her to say. And it isn't false. At least, not as much of a lie as it used to be. after all, when you live with the Varia, you learn to either crave death, or shut it out. There was no way around it.

Her stoic facade remains intact until Xanxus screams at everybody to_ get the fuck back to HQ_, and Bel pockets his knife before picking Eliza up bridal-style. She buries her head into his chest, wanting to forget how painful it all is, how nobody seems to care about what had just happened, how hard it is to pretend that she isn't affected by it at all.

But she can't forget, not after everything that's happened. And as her prince kisses her forehead, Elizabeta can't help but cry, knowing that the lips of the one she calls her lover has tasted - no, _relished_ the blood of the innocent.

And that deep inside, she knows she has, too.


End file.
